


Awful (Arthur Fleck x Reader)

by orphan_account



Category: Arthur Fleck - Fandom, Arthur Fleck Joker - Fandom, Joker (2019), Joker (DCU) - Fandom, Joker (Film), Joker - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I got this request on Tumblr: "Ooo can you do a fic/ scenario of Joker protecting his s/o (like if they were bullied of kidnapped)"I wanted to write a fic about how Arthur would react to seeing is S/O experience racism. As a Latina, this type of thing happens to me a lot (And I wish I had an Arthur there to protect me), and I felt like writing about it not only would be good representation, but also a fun away to highlight some of themes of the movie.(P.S. I know I wrote this taking place in Summer and Thomas Wayne announced his run for Mayor in October but this is how I wrote it so this is how it is!)WARNINGS: Ethnic/Racial slurs (against Latinxs), racialized aggression
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/ Original Female Character, Arthur Fleck/ Original Female Character of Color, Arthur Fleck/ Reader, Arthur Fleck/ You, Arthur Fleck/ Your name, Arthur Fleck/Original Character(s), Joker/ Original Character(s), Joker/ Original Female Character, Joker/ Original Female Character of Color, Joker/ You, Joker/ reader
Kudos: 66





	Awful (Arthur Fleck x Reader)

You and Arthur stand on the subway platform. It’s a hot August day, but you lean against him, his arm draped over your shoulders. Despite the heat you can’t keep your hands off each other, holding hands, or kissing each other on the forehead or cheeks.

The platform is packed with the regular rush hour crowd. The subways roaring past are filled to the brim. But you and Arthur are lost in your own little world.

An elderly woman pushes past, looking confused. She holds a slip of paper in her weathered hands. Her cool whip white hair bobs with each shuffle of her feet.

She looks at you and smiles, giving you that look that says she sees you the way you see her.

“¿Oye mija, puedes ayudarme?” She almost whispers, but the musical words float over the din of the platform.

She shows you the piece of paper and explains that she is trying to get to this address, where her granddaughter lives, but she isn’t sure which train to take.

You give her the directions. She reminds you of your own grandmother.

“Muchas gracias mija, Jesús que le bendiga”, kissing your hands she drifts over to the other side of the platform.

Arthur kisses the skin under your ear. “I love when you speak Spanish, you always look so happy when you do.”

“It makes me happy. It reminds me of home.” You say, watching to make sure the abuelita is on her way.

“You should speak it more around me, try to teach me some words.” Arthur pulls your attention back to him, running his hand down the side of your arm, tugging you towards the arriving train.

“Hmm? Like what? Papi Chulo?” You laugh, entering the congested subway car, holding on the pole near the door.

“How about, ‘I love you’?”

“Te quiero…wait I already taught you that one!”

“I know I just like hearing you say it.”

You playfully push his shoulder, and express some anxiety about the abuelita, hoping that she was able to get to where she was going safely.

You notice two men standing behind Arthur looking at you sideways. You feel your heart skip a beat as you notice the big glossy buttons pinned to their suit lapels: “Thomas Wayne for Mayor.”

Pretending not to notice or care, you grab Arthur’s hand a little tighter in hopes that they will see you’re with someone and won’t make any trouble.

Thomas Wayne had been speaking for months about his plan to “clean up” the city. Although he spoke in a round about way, the over all message was clear: immigrants are not welcome. Since he had announced his candidacy there had been an upsurge of hate crimes in your neighborhood. Muggings, verbal abuse, even arson. You squeezed Arthur’s hand tightly as you tried not to think about it.

But they had definitely heard you speaking Spanish. And they could clearly see you were with a white man.

You make the fatal mistake; you make eye contact with one of the men. His gelled back hair leaves his face looking round and shiny. The look in his eye makes your stomach drop. Looking around the subway car you see white faces all around you, and mostly men. Arthur is your only friend here.

“Hey, where are you from?” The man asks, stepping in your direction.

Arthur continues to talk to you, telling you about a comedian he had recently seen at Pogo’s. So, you ignore them.

“Hey, where are you from?” He asks again, standing so his shoulder is flush against Arthur’s.

“Here. I’m from here.” You mumble trying to not escalate the situation. Arthur’s eyes turn red, and he covers his mouth with his hand.

“Then why were you speaking Spanish before?” The other man asks, confidently backing up his friend.

You quickly assess your choices. You could simply ignore them and try to move to a different car, but it would be almost impossible to push through the crowd without drawing attention to the situation. You could politely decline to answer and hope that they will eventually go away, but judging from their confrontational stances, you doubt that will work. You could be rude and risk not only your own safety but Arthur’s as well.

“I was speaking Spanish before” you say cautiously, keeping your eyes on Arthur, “because I was giving someone directions. Just being a concerned citizen.”

Arthur begins to shake his head, letting you know that his laughing fit is close. Your eyes dart around looking for help from anyone, but the other passengers avoid eye contact. They continue to read their newspapers, or stare at their shoes.

_Bastards_ , you think to yourself.

“Okay, well this isn’t Mexico or whatever, this is Gotham, and here we speak English.” He says, practically spitting on you when he said “Mexico” the disgust clear in his face. He hates you. He doesn’t even know you, but he hates you.

“No me jodes…” you say, laughing slightly at how ridiculous the situation is. 

“She’s…She’s…” Arthur begins to laugh; he clutches his chest as the sound explodes out of him. “She’s Dominican!” He finally manages to get out. Still laughing, he turns to face the two men, positioning you slightly behind him.

“Beaner, Spic, they’re all the same!”

A drop of blood lands on your face. It happened so fast you almost missed Arthur breaking the man’s nose.

“Fucking say it again!” Arthur yells, shoving him back into his friend.

“Hey, you can’t touch us asshole!” The friend hits Arthur across the jaw, and you recoil at the sound.

Arthur stands his ground, blood running down his chin from his busted lip.

“I don’t understand why you are being so rude. I don’t understand why people are so uncivil!” He shouts, the other passengers quickly gathering their things as the subway rolls into the next stop.

The doors slide open and you pull on Arthur’s arm, dragging him onto the platform with you.

___

Back in your apartment, Arthur holds a bag of frozen peas against his face. You sit at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette trying to process and compartmentalize what happened.

“Are you mad at me?” He asks, wincing against the pain.

You look at up him. Blood stains on his shirt, his lip bruised, he looks a mess. But his eyes, red from crying, tell you that the physical pain doesn’t matter.

“No baby, why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” he pauses, trying to find the words to explain why his heart his broken. “You’re so quite.”

You stub out the cigarette and move so you’re kneeling in front of him.

“I’m just thinking about what happened. I’m just trying to process.”

“Did I do the right thing?” He grabs your hands. A tear rolls down his face mixing with the dried blood on his cheek.

“You are the only person on that train that did the right thing.” You reassure him, kissing his knee.

“I know that this happens to you, but I guess I didn’t _know know_.” You look up at him, you can see how he is trying to understand. “How are you not mad all the time? I feel like I would be mad all the time.”

You sigh. You are mad all the time. You hate the looks people give you when you walk down the street. You hate being followed in stores. It makes you so mad that you can’t even think about anything other than screaming.

“It makes me so mad sometimes I want to beat the shit out of someone.”

Arthur looks down at you, a curious smile flashes across his lips.

“But you know, sometimes you just have to laugh. I don’t want to be angry all the time. So, I laugh about it. It’s easier to let your life be a tragedy but I’m stubborn so I would rather live in a comedy.”

Arthur nods slowly. “Next time…I’ll bring my gun.” He murmurs, so you almost don’t hear him.

“Next time?” You ask, hoping that the next time won’t be for a long time.

“Yeah. Just in case.” He winks at you, and shake your head laughing. “Oh! How do you say gun in Spanish?”

“Pistola” You move to sit in his lap.

“Oh, so almost the same?” Arthur wraps his arm around you waist holding you close to him.

“Yes!” You say, squealing as he pinches your side, tickling you.

“It sounds so pretty when you say it. Say it again.”

“Pistola.”

“Again.”

“Pistola.”


End file.
